I’ve been making good progress on my 40×40 list.
In case you’re keeping tabs, I haven’t consumed a single Mountain Dew of any variety since October 30. Oddly, I also find that I’m now less interested in Nascar and have started questioning the wisdom of allowing cousins to marry.
At this rate, Miss Moneypenny’s brown snaggletooth will practically straighten itself and people won’t think they’re entering West Virginia when they cross my threshold. Might be time to start a meth lab, just to maintain appearances around here.
[I joke, but my sister once lived across the street from a house that functioned as a meth lab and had no idea. The DEA has created a registry of homes that functioned as clandestine labs. Probably worth reviewing if you’re hunting for a home. Screwy as it sounds, realtors don’t have to disclose a home’s illicit history – even if it can make you sick. How was THAT for random?]
Back to my 40×40 list… I’ve been making good progress on my commitment to swim 50 miles this year. I already have 7 miles under my belt, and – aside from the first one, which was UGLY – it’s just like riding a bike. Except without the wheels and handlebars.
I find that my mind wanders when I’m cranking out laps, and I think of the weirdest things. That bike analogy wasn’t even one of them, until I considered what it would be like to swim while wearing a bike helmet.
This weekend I had a lane that is lined with four drains along the bottom. It made me think of childhood, and the oft-repeated warnings to, “Never sit on the pool drain or you will have your intestines pulled out of your ass.” I’m not the only person who heard that line, right?
As I counted my laps and stared at the drains, it struck me as an urban legend. So when I got home, I googled “death by pool drain intestines.” Brace yourself: It is actually a real thing. Wow. Just – terrifying.
On a related note – related to swimming, not intestinal loss – I had a weird experience when I went to the pool on Saturday. All the lanes were occupied, so I sized them up, trying to determine where I’d have the best luck sharing. I felt like Goldilocks as I observed the swimmers: that one’s too fast… that one’s too slow… that one’s too sloppy…
I finally found one who seemed to be, “just right.” Unfortunately, he must not have thought so, because when I approached him and asked to share his lane, he got all huffy and moved to a new lane so he was sharing with someone and I had his old lane to myself. Confused about what happened, I said, “Hey – sorry – didn’t mean to run you out of your lane.”
To which he barked, “We wouldn’t be compatible.”
I was taken aback because I wasn’t sure what he was basing that on. At that point, he hadn’t seen me do anything. I shrugged and started my laps, keeping one eye trained on his workout to see what he had meant.
I was never able to figure it out, so I can only surmise that he thought I was seeking a dick-free lane. And I guess he was right.
Next time, I’ll make sure I’m sporting one of these awesome swim caps from Kiefer.com so I know why he’s judging me:
pithypants 
Correction: I DID SO know it was a meth house. It was my spouse who thought I was paranoid. Between the black plastic that suddenly went over every window after the new tenants moved in, and the windowless white van that would back in late at night once a week or so, I had a pretty good idea. It was my unbelieving spouse who let our young son out front without supervision that led to his being on his trike when the SWAT team rolled up for the raid (and, interestingly, first kicked in the front door of the *other* green house on that side of the street before apologetically moving two houses down).
Black plastic + white vans? I would’ve assumed they converted the entire place to a darkroom and were making oversized prints. Because that’s what BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT looks like. Maybe you need to open your heart just a wee bit more.
Now I’m confused. Without Mountain Dew, I’d become an urbane, witty, sensible person who worries about swimming pool drains? I can handle that, I suppose, but it’s the period of near narcolepsy that worries me.
Well, technically the narcolepsy is only a problem if you’re swimming when it strikes.
Back into swimming. funny, I was just thinking I should do the same thing. Luckily, I don’t need a swim cap these days. And meth houses aren’t that bad, just pumping money and chemicals into your local economy and keeping the world “green”. You really should support small home based business!
You raise a great point. If only meth cooks could package their wares in a way they could sell them on Etsy, I’m sure people would buy their stuff just to support small, craft businesses. Or wait – is that the idea behind bath salts?
Didn’t you hear the story about how Kyle Lott got stuck to the drain in the bottom of a hotel hot tub that was missing its cover and almost died when he was little? I think he has the scar to prove it. No he didnt get his intestines sucked out…but fits the “death by drain” piece.
Doh! Had totally forgotten that he was part of the cautionary tale. Kind of amazing that he then went on to become a swim coach. If that had happened to me, I would’ve taken up a dry hobby.
After hearing about your Mountain Dew cravings I was going to ask you how your teeth were but if you’re doing meth I don’t suppose it matters anyway.
I never heard about having my intestines sucked out by a pool drain, just embarrassing moments with bath suits. Were your intestine hanging out & that’s why you weren’t compatible with that guy. Had no idea there was an etiquette with the lap swimming but then again – I don’t even know how to swim so I guess I wouldn’t be compatible with anyone.